Lady of the Trillium

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “I am very glad to meet your kinsfolk, my lady,” Uzun replied, his voice rippling up and down his strings. “It is right that you should have someone to help you in the bearing of so many and such heavy burdens. Is it she whom you have chosen to take over your burdens when you are no longer able to do so?”

  “How well you know me, Uzun,” Haramis said fondly.

  She looked at Mikayla, and she felt she could hear the thoughts running through the girl’s immature, undisciplined mind. The harp didn’t have eyes—at least not so far as she could tell, so how could it see them? Certainly there was something very strange going on here, and obviously Mikayla was still trying to reason out what it was and how it worked.

  Haramis said sharply, “Now do you believe me, you foolish girl?”

  Mikayla looked dubiously at her. “My lady, are you really asking me to believe that you turned a person—a dead person—into a harp?”

  “Good, you are so far honest at least,” Haramis said briskly. “If you doubt me, always say so honestly, and I will try to explain; better to express honest doubt than to pretend agreement. Better always to tell the truth, even if the truth will make me angry.” And speaking of anger … “You are angry with me now, are you not, Mikayla?”

  Mikayla glared at her. She said, “Yes, I am.” She turned and glared at Fiolon, too. “Don’t look at me like that, Fiolon; she asked me. And considering that she has essentially kidnapped both of us, announced her intention of keeping me here against my will, and then told me she can turn a person into a harp without so much as a by your leave, I don’t think you can realistically expect me not to be annoyed with her—at the very least.”

  Fiolon looked up and gulped. He said, “But, Mika, do you really think it’s a good idea to get angry at someone who can turn you into something else? I mean, even if you are angry, you don’t have to lie about it, just keep your mouth shut.”

  Uzun’s voice sang through the harp. “Princess Mikayla, you are being unfair to our Lady Haramis. She certainly did not turn me into a harp without my consent, and she worked very hard to do it.”

  Mikayla walked over to Uzun’s side, reached up, and touched a tentative finger to the bone inlay on the harp. “How did she do it?” she asked. “Was this bone part of your body? Did she kill you to work the spell, or did you die naturally and she just chopped up your body? And obviously you can hear, but can you see? Can you move by your own will?”

  “Your thirst for morbid detail can wait until you have had enough training to understand what you are talking about,” the harp replied. “And, for future reference, I prefer not to be touched without my consent.” Uzun’s rich voice sounded annoyed as it vibrated into silence, and Haramis smiled.

  Fiolon asked, “Where did he go? Tell him to come back—I mean, ask him, please.”

  Haramis looked grave. “Even I do not give orders to Uzun, my boy. I am afraid that between you, you children have really managed to offend him, and it may be a considerable time before he speaks to either of you again—or to me, because I allowed you such rudeness as to question him.”

  Mikayla rolled her eyes. “Why would he blame you for our behavior? You met us only today; it’s not as if you had anything to do with our upbringing or training. What could he possibly think you could do about the way we act?”

  But Fiolon said, “You should be polite to him, Mikayla—I told you about him, remember? He was the court musician to King Krain, and an amateur magician as well, and he accompanied the Princess Haramis on the first part of her Quest.”

  Mikayla looked at him and shook her head. “Honestly, Fio, do you remember everything from every song you’ve ever heard?”

  Fiolon thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I think I do,” he replied.

  Mikayla sighed. “Well, try to remember that I don’t. A lot of your favorite songs are nearly two hundreds old, and they all sound alike to me. And who was King Krain?”

  “He was my father,” Haramis replied, “and he was murdered horribly when the Labornoki army invaded—I’ll spare you the gruesome details. It’s time for you to go to bed now, and you don’t need nightmares.” She yanked abruptly at the bellpull and then sat in a silence none of the others dared to break until Enya appeared. Then she ordered Enya to see that the children and Quasi were put to bed, and she stalked from the room without even waiting for Enya’s acknowledgment of her orders.

  Behind her retreating form, Fiolon whispered to Mikayla, “I don’t think you should have mentioned her father. In fact, if I were you, I wouldn’t mention her family at all.”

  A little while later the children were put to bed in the Archimage’s guest room, in two narrow beds side by side. Haramis went to her room and set up her scrying basin. “Let’s see what these two do when left alone together,” she muttered to herself.

  At first there was nothing interesting to see. Mikayla, who had after all had a long and tiring day, was quickly asleep. Fiolon, however, seemed restless and unable to fall asleep. He kept turning over and over in bed, and sitting up at intervals, before lying down and trying to go to sleep again without success.

  Haramis suspected that he was remembering the scene before the fire with Uzun, and that he wished to go downstairs again and make his peace with Master Uzun before he slept. The boy obviously had sense enough to realize that the one thing Mikayla did not need was to make an enemy of Master Uzun.

  And he is right, Haramis thought, Mikayla should take care to be on good terms with Uzun; even in his present form, he is the only one of my counselors still living. Except for a few Oddling servants, most of them Vispi, there isn’t anyone else living in the Tower besides me and Uzun.

  When Fiolon got out of bed and started downstairs, Haramis made no move to stop him. She sat quietly and watched, prepared to derive what amusement she could from the coming confrontation. Uzun had always been uncommonly stubborn; it would be interesting to watch how Fiolon coped with him.

  The study was empty except for the flickering of the coals of the fire on the great harp, whose wood glowed reddish bronze in the firelight. Fiolon knelt on the hearth rug before the harp and whispered, “Master Uzun, I beg you to forgive my cousin Mika; she really doesn’t mean any harm. It’s just the way she is; she never believes anything unless she can see it and measure it. She’s the sort of person who likes to take things apart to see how they work; she’s not good at taking things on faith or believing in magic she can’t reason out rules for.”

  Master Uzun obstinately kept silence. Haramis waited and watched. Then it obviously occurred to Fiolon—whether it was his own thought or whether it somehow came to him from the silent magician before him—that if Master Uzun was to forgive Mikayla, the girl must come herself and beg his pardon for her thoughtless words. He rose to his feet and headed for the stairs. Haramis continued to follow his path in the scrying bowl.

  Fiolon lost no time. He stole quietly upstairs to the guest room where Mika was sleeping. No more was visible of his cousin than one red curl above the pillow. Fiolon tweaked it and Mikayla surfaced and opened her eyes.

  “Fio? Why aren’t you asleep? It isn’t morning yet, is it? It’s still dark! What’s the matter?”

  “Mikayla, you must come down to the study at once and beg Master Uzun’s pardon.”

  “Are you out of your mind, Fio? It’s the middle of the night! He’ll probably be asleep—assuming he sleeps.” She frowned at him. “And your voice sounds funny. Are you getting sick? We all got badly chilled on the journey here, and you probably worse than I. At least I was between Haramis and the bird, so I was sheltered somewhat, but you must have taken the brunt of the winds.” She reached out a hand to touch his forehead and gasped. “Fiolon, you’re burning with fever. Get back into bed right now!”

  Fiolon scowled at her and said, “Not until you apologize to Master Uzun.”

  Mikayla sighed. “Oh, very well. Anything to make you stop acting like an idiot. You’re sick, Fiolon; you should be in bed.” She got out of
bed, stopping only to slip a pair of warm slippers on her bare feet, and followed him down the stairs.

  The red coals of the fire had burned down to a sullen glow. Fiolon made up the fire and fanned it to a small flame, while Mikayla knelt before the gleaming harp.

  “Master Uzun,” she said with contrition, and rising, she dropped a deep court curtsy.

  “I entreat you to forgive me, Master Uzun,” she murmured ceremoniously. “If the Lady Archimage does indeed choose me as her successor, I shall want friends here. I most humbly beg your pardon, and I assure you that I meant no offense, nor did I mean to doubt you.” She was silent for a while. “Please do forgive me, sir,” she whispered again after a few moments.

  There was silence in the room. Then with a long sound like a sigh, Uzun’s strings sighed a ripple of music and he breathed, “Indeed I do forgive you most heartily, little mistress—Princess Mikayla. We shall be friends, I hope, from this moment. And you, too, young Master Fiolon. It was courteous of you to wish to amend this misunderstanding.” What he did not say—but Haramis, watching from her room, understood it, nevertheless, as clearly as if Uzun had spoken aloud—was that he would like to further his acquaintance with Fiolon. But Uzun would guess that Fiolon would not be remaining here much longer.

  “You must not think of yourself as a prisoner here, Princess,” Uzun said, almost as if he were picking up Mikayla’s thoughts. “It is a great honor to be chosen as Archimage, and I am certain that you will do the job well when the time comes. And you will have the benefit of proper training—a luxury the Lady Haramis did not have.”

  “Why did she choose me?” Mikayla asked. “I’m really not the magical type.” Beside her, Fiolon gave a feeble snort of laughter. Obviously he agreed with her assessment of her character.

  “The Archimage doesn’t choose her successor,” Uzun explained. “Actually, I believe the land itself makes the choice. But when the time comes, the Archimage knows, so that she can pass on the office.”

  “How was the Lady Haramis chosen?” Fiolon asked curiously. “Your ballads never quite said.”

  “Alas for my weakness.” Uzun sighed. “I wasn’t with her then. I had to leave her when she journeyed into the mountains here in search of her Talisman.”

  “You would have frozen to death if you had tried to follow her,” Mikayla pointed out gently. Haramis was glad to see that the child appeared to have at least a little appreciation of other people’s feelings. “Quasi got frozen today and had to be thawed out; remember how sluggish he was at supper?”

  “Quasi?” the harp asked. “Was that a Nyssomu with you? Nobody introduced him to me.”

  Mikayla stared intently at the harp for several long seconds. “You are blind,” she said with certainty. “And you can’t move, can you? You’re a person trapped in a harp who can hear and talk, but that’s all. How could she have done this to you?”

  “She wanted to keep me alive,” Uzun said quietly.

  “You taught her magic when she was a child,” Fiolon said, hastily changing the subject. “That’s in one of the Chronicles. Is that why she was chosen, because she already knew magic?”

  “It can’t be,” Mikayla objected before Uzun could answer. Haramis suppressed a sigh. Obviously in Mikayla’s case good manners were intermittent in the extreme. “Because then I wouldn’t have been chosen. I don’t know much magic, Fio—you’re the one who can do magic.”

  Fiolon blushed so deeply it was visible even in the flickering firelight. “Just little tricks, nothing like Master Uzun or the Lady Archimage. But all three of the triplets could work magic, Mika, so I’ll bet you can learn. You’ve never tried to work any major spells, so you have no way of knowing if you have any magical ability or not.” He thought for a moment and added, “I’m pretty sure you do have some sort of magical ability—remember, you said that something was wrong just before the Skritek started hatching.”

  “I know I have no interest in magic,” Mikayla muttered. “It’s a pity she didn’t chose you.”

  Uzun said softly, “I know this undoubtedly comes as quite a shock to you, child, but it will turn out for the best. You will see.”

  Mikayla sighed. “All I ever wanted to do was marry Fiolon and explore the Mazy Mire.”

  “Then you have more in common with the Lady Haramis than you realize,” Uzun said. “She was betrothed to Prince Fiomaki of Var. Fifty days before the wedding day, King Voltrik’s army attacked Ruwenda. And she was heiress to the throne. Believe me, Princess Haramis had a lot of plans that didn’t include being Archimage.” A sound like a chuckle rippled along the strings. “And I didn’t have to be there to be sure that she must have given the Archimage Binah quite an argument about it.”

  I certainly tried, Haramis thought, but when she died so suddenly, it did rather cut short the discussion.

  “You must return to your beds now, young people,” Uzun said. “I wish you a very good night and pleasant dreams.” His tone left no room for doubt in either of their minds that they had been dismissed, as if from the presence of a courtier. Both children bowed to him and went upstairs to bed. As soon as they had fallen asleep, Haramis emptied the scrying bowl and made her way somewhat stiffly to her own bed—sitting in one position over the bowl had not been kind to her body. As she fell asleep she thought that Uzun was likely to be very helpful in training Mikayla. The Lords of the Air knew that she was going to need all the help she could get!

  6

  It was Haramis’s firm intent that Fiolon depart for his home the next day. She wanted to waste no time in separating him from Mikayla. The girl would learn what Haramis wished to teach her more quickly without the distraction of her childhood playmate’s presence. It was time for Mikayla to grow up and take on an adult’s responsibilities.

  Unfortunately, Mikayla had been correct the night before when she said that Fiolon was sick. By the time the children woke—rather late in the morning—he was having trouble breathing and complained feebly that his chest hurt. When Haramis came to check on him herself, Mikayla glared at her.

  “He has lung fever, Lady,” she snapped, “which is only to be expected after the time he spent yesterday flying through cold air in soaking-wet clothes. Did you even notice that his clothes were frozen on his body by the time we got here?”

  Actually, Haramis had been sufficiently cold and miserable herself by then that she hadn’t noticed, but it did not seem a good idea to admit that. “Don’t make such a fuss, girl,” she said. “I’m sorry he’s ill, but my housekeeper will take good care of him and he’ll recover soon.” He had better, she thought, I want him out of here as soon as may be. “As for you”—she frowned sternly at Mikayla—“his illness is no excuse for you to be still in your nightclothes at this hour of day. Get dressed at once, and then come to my study.” She swept out of the room, ignoring the stamp of slippered feet behind her.

  It was a full half hour by the time Mikayla turned up in the study as ordered. By then, the breakfast Haramis had ordered for the child was cold. Haramis herself had eaten hours earlier. “You have a choice, Mikayla,” she told the girl. “You can be on time for meals or you can eat them cold. Today, you have chosen cold breakfast. Eat it quickly; we have a lot to do.”

  Mikayla shoved cold porridge into her mouth and said, “What?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Haramis said automatically. “You need to learn about magic, starting, no doubt, at the very beginning. You do at least know how to read, I trust.”

  Mikayla nodded and continued to eat porridge. She didn’t seem to notice the taste or the temperature, or even to be truly aware of the fact that she was eating it. Haramis frowned. Obviously this was not someone who could be motivated through food. What did this girl value, other than Fiolon? How could Haramis reach her?

  Mikayla finished the last bite and dropped her spoon in the empty bowl with a clatter. Haramis sent the dish back to the kitchen with a wave of her hand—and Mikayla didn’t even look impressed. Of course, she
had seen Haramis transport away the dirty dishes the night before, so she knew it was possible, but if she were going to simply take magic for granted … Well, maybe that would be a help in her training—at least she wouldn’t spend hours marveling over every little thing. But surely some sense of the wonder of it all was desirable.

  Haramis took Mikayla to the library, where she started with a simple explanation of basic magic and how it worked.

  “It is clear that you know very little of magecraft, Mikayla. Let this, then, be your first lesson in that art. A mage must never do anything without need, no matter how simple. I sent Quasi home this morning by lammergeier because he would have frozen to death otherwise. I called the lammergeiers to you two at first, only because when I rescued you from the river there was grave danger. You had lost your boat, and you had not yet learned much about communication with the Skritek-kind. So I was forced to rescue you from that danger into which folly had led you before you were schooled to extricate yourselves. Do you understand?”

  “No,” Mikayla said. “I don’t understand. In the first place, we weren’t in any particular danger. The nearest Skritek were a half day’s journey away—by boat, going downriver!”

  “Meeting up with the Skritek is not a risk a sensible person takes with her own life, nor a risk a responsible person takes with the lives of her companions.”

  Mikayla shuddered involuntarily, remembering Traneo’s fate. But she remembered a few other things as well. “We weren’t far from Quasi’s village. When you dragged us out of there and brought us here, Quasi nearly froze to death and Fiolon got lung fever. But other than that, my Lady Archimage, is it wrong to use the lammergeiers?”

  “It is not wrong,” said the Archimage, carefully ignoring the girl’s sarcasm. “It is only unwise and unnecessary. Who knows when some grave danger to us, or to the land, may arise, and the lammergeiers be overwearied when I most need them? A day will come, I trust, when you will know what is and what is not necessary—and you will not find that knowledge written in any book, nor stored in any of the devices of the Vanished Ones. If you do not find that knowledge imprinted within your own heart, Mikayla, then, when you most need it, you will be without it. This is the only thing I can teach you, and if we are fortunate, that will be enough. Everything else, spells and such things, you could learn from some Oddling herb-wife. That is what Orogastus never knew—though there are some who would not care to hear me say so.”